


Until the End of the World: If the World Should Break in Two

by dramady, edonyx



Series: Until The End Of The World [6]
Category: lambliff
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <div class="center"><i>You and me<br/>We're in this together now<br/>None of them can stop us now<br/>We will make it through somehow<br/>You and me<br/>If the world should break in two<br/>Until the very end of me<br/>Until the very end of you </i><br/>Nine Inch Nails<p>This is an epilogue to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/1882">Until the End of the World</a>. <br/>It takes some time, but Adam and Tommy find a place to really call home.</p></div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

_October, 2014_

"This was God's plan," a woman named Muriel says, wringing her hands together. "This was God's way of resalting the earth, to start anew, to free us from evil."

Adam has two thoughts almost simultaneously as he and Tommy sit in the back of the small town hall that has been commandeered for these "community meetings." One: Muriel needs to color her hair. And two: Muriel is full of shit. He slouches lower in his seat, frowning, arms crossed over his chest.

The group of survivors that had found Tommy and Adam are based in Jacksonville and number about 180, give or take. More people arrive everyday. At first, everyone had the same look on their faces; wary, gaunt and untrusting. There's a guy named Jim who's trying to organize everyone. Before, he was a city comptroller or something. It was his idea to have these meetings, to flesh out concerns, to start working on a _plan_.

A plan for what, Adam doesn't know. He has a hard time caring.

Adam has learned that he's something of an anarchist.

"It was God's _plan_ \- " Muriel exerts again and Adam huffs out a breath, even if Jim is cutting her off. "Let's get out of here," Adam whispers to Tommy. "I just ... " He waves his hand toward the front, toward Jim and Muriel and the other thirty-odd people who came. He just. Can't.

Tommy nods, hands stuffed in the pockets of his thin hoodie. Jacksonville isn't that bad a drive, really, but it's a lot of the same shit that they talk about. The good stuff, like getting real electricity going _properly_, setting up food shares, shit like that. And then there's people like Muriel who make Tommy wonder if she even knows what love is. What he and Adam have is _private_ and _theirs_, and none of the people here seem to have realized it. Maybe that's not a bad thing. Tommy certainly doesn't want someone like Muriel finding out. Resalting the earth, Tommy's ass. It was rabies. He meets Adam's eyes and nods toward the door.

When they rise and move toward the door, Jim says, "... are you leaving?" And Adam turns. Without a thought, he stands where he's covering Tommy. He looks over at Muriel, then back at Jim. "Yeah. We're leaving." They will help, they've decided, he and Tommy, when they can. They will not, Adam just decided, listen to someone's dogma.

"We all have to work together - !"

But Adam's already turning, urging Tommy toward the doors and out into the late fall sun. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, getting the truck keys from his pocket. "If she knew - " He doesn't say more. Tommy knows. If Muriel knew that Tommy and Adam were lovers, it's easy enough to imagine what she'd say. God's plan missed a step.

God's plan missed a _lot_ of steps, letting people like their friends, their families be infected; letting them die in one of the worst ways Tommy can think of. "I think they should get a Burger King running. It's not that hard to rig up a genny to get electricity." They've got it at their home in Ratliff, but even still, their life is stripped down to levels that neither of them would have thought they could survive on, Before. No TV, but the occasional movie. No video games. They play their own music, both with Adam's voice and Tommy's guitar, and the collection of CD's they've got from the 'shopping' they've done. "Next thing you know, they're going to want money for what they're doing. And things go back to how they were." And Tommy doesn't want that. He glances at Adam out of the corner of his eye, and his smile is more in his eyes than anywhere else on his face. "If she knew what? That we're-?"

That they are. Adam doesn't answer the question. "They can't demand money," Adam tells him though, as they're driving away. "It doesn't mean jackshit now." Life is civilization at its most primitive, except that everyone knows what Before was like, making it seem excruciating.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, Adam says, almost as it occurs to him. "Maybe we should go west."

West. To California.

"Money's just paper," Tommy agrees, and starts to say something else that he remembers from history class in high school and the value of money during the Civil War, but then Adam makes his suggestion and it feels like a smack across the face. "What? _West?_" The widest part of the country, for sure, but at least they don't have any unpeople to worry about. None that they know of, anyway. All the reports from the people trickling into Jacksonville were pretty much the same: if they were even remotely alive, they were incredibly fragile. But most of them were dead. And that had been on those peoples' trips to wherever they were going, months before even Tommy and Adam had heard that voice - Jim's, actually - on the bullhorn.

"You want to go home," is what Tommy finishes with, looking out the truck's window.

Home.

Home, Adam realizes, is where Tommy is. And as he drives, he reaches over and takes Tommy's hand. "If we're going to be part of building something ... I ... yeah," he finally says, because that about sums it up. "I want to go home." He steals a glance over at Tommy, though. "I want us to go home."

Tommy's focus turns down to their fingers, and he's quiet for nearly three minutes, thinking about how they could do this, what they'd take, what they'd have to leave behind. Material things are _things_, he's realized. What's necessary is very, very little. Adam, the bed they share, the few things that they need to keep them alive. "When do you want to leave?" With a sick lurch to his stomach, Tommy realizes that they'll have to get their guns out again. Unpeople had a one-track mind. Real people are a lot more dangerous.

It's October now. Winter is coming in other parts of the country. Adam takes his time in answering. "Spring," he finally says. It gives them time to do everything they might need to and then some. "Tommy...." Adam looks over again.

October means Tommy's birthday is coming, and Tommy doesn't even want to think about it. There are days where he feels much younger than he actually is, and days where he feels _much_ older. Now, he just looks tired. "Are you sure?" Because going home means going _home_, to places they're familiar with, without the familiar people. Their families, their friends, and for a second, Tommy's eyes sting.

Adam pulls over, putting the truck in park and undoing his seatbelt. Then he undoes Tommy's, meeting him in the middle of the bench seat in a hug. "I'm not sure. I don't know. It ... it was just an idea. We don't have to go." They have a home here, after all, the little house in Ratliff, Grizzy. They have a life. He doesn't even know where the idea came from. It's not a good idea, not really.

Tommy rests his temple against Adam's shoulder, thinking things through. "But there's always the chance for 'better than this', you know? And... maybe it'd be good to go... to see about your mom and dad, and my family..." Get some closure in that direction, at least. "We can always come back. We've done shit that's _way_ harder than this." He pulls away to look up into Adam's eyes, eyes that are as blue as the sky sometimes, or as grey as smoke. "All the way, Adam. I'm gonna be here."

And in that way, then, it's decided.

They stock up on what they need in increments, working to not draw attention to themselves, though they don't think about it in those terms. They get a smaller RV, they get gas whenever they can, cans and cans of it siphoned and stored, all the canned food they can find. Ammunition. Water.

The months bleed together, Tommy's birthday, Christmas, then Adam's birthday. Their means of gifts hasn't changed, touches, tastes, words whispered and meant. The bond, the connection hasn't been weakened in the time since they were discovered. Adam refuses to let it.

Come April, he stands on the back porch, looking down toward where the plum tree will bloom, soon. When he hears Tommy behind him, he says, "I think it's time to go."

"I'll start getting the RV loaded up." Does Adam know that Tommy's been taking target practice again? That he's been shooting down things like empty cans and bottles? Just in case. They'd learned the hard way how to shoot during the outbreak, and even though Tommy hopes he'll never have to turn a gun on any kind of person, they have to be ready. And he feels guilty for being relieved that they're leaving; the idea of being completely alone with Adam reassures Tommy more than the idea of the people in Jacksonville. That hasn't changed.

So Tommy starts with the music and the movies, and the both of them go through the car batteries they've still got to get all of their appliances and shower set up the way they were on the trip here. Tommy talks to Grizz, telling him that if he pisses on _any_ of the furniture, then they're going to make him into McDonald's hamburgers. The threat is empty. Dinner is poked at while Tommy thinks about what they're going to need along the way, what they could run into, _who_ they could run into. "Are you going to miss being here?"

His fork in the air, Adam thinks about that, looking toward the window. He shakes his head, though, as he turns back to Tommy. "No. I have you." And he reaches across the table to touch his fingertips to Tommy's knuckles.

Tommy's hand straightens out so his fingers fit between Adam's, and with the squeeze that follows, Tommy's reassured enough that he can eat his dinner. _I have you._ It's all Tommy needs, he realizes. "You're home, to me."

The mattress from the bed, of course, is the last thing to go into the RV, once the spare gas tanks are stored and they've got all the food they can stuff into the fridge, into the cupboards, even the makeshift pantry that's where the TV used to be before it was left behind in Iowa. "I'm gonna grab a shower now so we can get going early, okay?" Tommy's shirt is stripped off, and when he bends to unlace his boots, the line of his spine is clear under his skin. He works too hard now to keep any kind of weight on, and he remembers a time Before when he'd thought he needed to lose weight. Adam had thought the same about himself. How fucking ridiculous it seems, now.

"I'll go with you," Adam says, coming up close enough to run his hand up Tommy's spine, slowly. He knows Tommy's body by heart, knows how to touch him. He revels in that knowledge. "There's one more thing I want you to do before we go," Adam tells Tommy, and he waits to tell him until they're face to face.

"I want you to help me cut my hair."

Adam's touch makes Tommy shiver, and when they're facing each other, Tommy pulls at the elastic in Adam's hair to let it loose. "How short?" His fingers card through it, knowing the feel of it as much as Adam knows the feel of Tommy's body, familiar and still awesome in ways that he never gets tired of. "You're gonna keep it black, right?" The only real tie to Before, along with the rare gift of Adam singing. "Do you want me to cut it _off?_"

"Not bald," Adam answered, giving Tommy a smile. "Just shorter." One less thing to worry about. One less thing to fuss about. A fresh start.

Adam takes Tommy's hand, walking with him into the bathroom and handing him the scissors.

"I can't even imagine you with _no_ hair." Tommy motions for Adam to sit down, and the first cut's the worst, seeing that long black hair come off so easily. Then it's a matter of evening things out here, there, with the muttered warning, "I'm not _good_ at this," before stepping back to look at the back of Adam's head. "Okay, you should maybe do the front? I don't want to screw it up." Not that a bad haircut would change anything; Tommy's had more than a few of his own, mostly when he'd try and do it himself. "Surprise me when I get out." Tommy pushes his jeans down his hips and gets into the shower, chin lowered and eyes closed, thinking about what's going to happen to them. Where they're going to go, what they're going to see.

As Tommy showers, Adam takes over the scissors, taking what he learned on Tommy and using it on himself, noticing the hair that falls into the sink, stark black against the white of the vanity. There's no way that he's going to be able to do anything like he had Before, but out of his eyes is good, out of his face.

By the time Tommy gets out of the shower, Adam is brushing his fingers through his hair and snipping at random pieces, looking at himself more at one time than he has in months.

He looks so much like Adam from Before that it feels like Tommy's heart stops in his chest, just for a moment. Adam's name's right there to say, but somehow Tommy stumbles on it and it falls unsaid. He doesn't _know_ what to say, not around how seeing Adam like this makes his chest feel tight. So Tommy clears his throat, wrapping a towel around his hips, and then sits on the edge of the tub to watch Adam. For now, they have nothing to worry about. One more night of quiet and ease before going back out onto roads that could be hostile. _I'll keep you safe as long as I can._ A promise he'd made to Adam that Tommy will never give up on.

In the mirror as he combs through his hair with his fingers one last time, Adam sees Tommy and his expression softens. He sets the scissors down and turns, moving to kneel in front of Tommy, hands on his knees. "How does it look?"

"You..." _Beautiful._ As Adam always is, as he's always been, to Tommy's eyes. "It looks really good." Tommy takes both of Adam's hands in his own and sets them on his jaw so Tommy can lean in and kiss him. "That's what I think of how it looks." His knees come apart to accommodate Adam being close, and, forehead to forehead, Tommy wraps his arms around Adam's shoulders. "I won't let you be scared of this, okay?"

Adam nods, their foreheads still pressed together, thumbs tracing circles on Tommy's cheeks. "I'll keep you safe," he answers in words. No matter what. No matter what.

~~

They are on the road by 5 AM, driving out of Ratliff, down into Jacksonville and onto I-10. They'll be on that highway all the way to Los Angeles if luck is with them. Adam is behind the wheel, Tommy in the passenger seat and Grizzy hiding somewhere in the back, displeased with this turn of events.

It's funny - when they'd left Iowa, Tommy had been terrified that they were doing the wrong thing, that there was so much they still didn't _know_. Now, leaving Ratliff feels like a relief. He won't be king here anymore, or mayor, or whatever he'd felt like joking about being on whatever day. They're going to be together, by themselves in that way that they've become so used to. Even with people in Jacksonville, Tommy feels crowded, and isn't that fucked up. So he gets up to go check on their cat, who's standing between the couch and the wall looking for all the world like someone shoved his tail into an outlet. "Take it easy, Grizz. You're fine." He's got his holsters on, but not the guns, because what the fuck, it's barely dawn, and why should anyone come for them right now, right? "You want coffee, Adam?"

"No. Thanks. I'll have some juice though, if it's close by." The rifle is tucked under the driver's seat where Adam can reach it quickly. The road as far as he can see is clear, but that doesn't ease the tightness in his stomach. In his rearview mirror, he can see the sun coming up. A moment more and he slides a CD into the player. Kris Allen. "Live Like We're Dying." The irony nearly makes him smile.

The music isn't much of Tommy's cup of tea, but Adam likes it, and Kris was a really, really nice guy, Before. So Tommy gets Adam some juice and sticks it in the cup holder before going to check on his guns, make sure they're clean and ready, if they need them. He hopes they won't. They're brought to the front of the RV, put where they're in easy reach, and then Tommy slouches out in the passenger seat. "This feels... it feels right to do. I don't want you to be scared, alright?" With an odd little smile, Tommy holds up one of his pistols. "I'm not gonna let you be scared. I'll even... I don't know. I'll take down a fuckin' moose with these if I have to." The anxiety in Adam's stomach; Tommy can see it on his face as well, and he hates that more than any unperson, unanimal, or anything else.

"I'm fine," Adam tells him with the best smile he can muster. They have so many miles to go, so much ground to cover, to find what? What they know in their stomachs already; that all their loved ones are dead. But Tommy's right; this is what they should be doing. He reaches over and squeezes Tommy's hand.

~~

About a hundred and fifty miles from the Florida stateline, the highway all but closes with a congestion of cars in various states of rust and disuse. This is where they have to be careful. This is where they don't know what could be waiting. These cars are pressed almost bumper to bumper, with clear spots on the shoulders of the road. Tommy nods for Adam to try that; instinctively, he's lost his voice in favor of a language that they're both still fluent in. He gets his guns ready. Just in case.

Grateful for the smaller RV, Adam guides them onto the shoulder and into the overgrown grass along the side. Why here? Why like this? He goes as fast as he can, though, without risking a flat tire, not realizing that his knuckles are white with how tight he's holding on.

"It's okay," Tommy whispers. "Pull over for a sec. We should-" The idea seems like a good one inside of Tommy's head, just get out to have a look, walk up the shoulder a bit to make sure they _can_ get the RV through, but the moment it's spoken, it sounds pretty dumb. "You think they just all kind of jammed up and stopped like this? I was thinking maybe we should go and check up ahead before trying to drive over it."

"No," Adam is saying even before Tommy is done talking. That puts them at risk. "Maybe something ran in front of the cars." Which sounds just as lame. "I think we should keep going. Just ...watch." They don't want to get a flat or have something go wrong, leaving them stranded. Defenseless.

It isn't as if Tommy doesn't trust what he sees, but.... okay, he doesn't trust what he sees. To him, the cars look like they've been pushed together to make traveling a fuck of a lot harder. Words come that feel like they haven't been spoken in a _long_ time: "Be careful babyboy, okay?" They've been through too much already, _lived_ through too much, to have anything happen now that the outbreak is honestly, truly over.

The sound comes the same time as the RV jars abruptly to the left. A sharp crack.

Adam cranks the wheel to the right to try to compensate but they are slowing whether he likes it not. "Shit," he hisses and that's all he needs to say for Tommy to be ready. Did they blow a tire? Or was it something else?

They come to a stop about twenty feet further along. Even as Adam turns off the engine, he's reaching for the rifle, his stomach twisting. One look to Tommy and he's opening the door.

The look in Tommy's eyes isn't quite so old that it's unfamiliar, but it tells Adam that no matter what, Tommy's got him. It sounded like a gun, to him, some kind of hunting rifle. He comes around to Adam's side of the RV, and look at that, the back tire on the driver's side is blown out completely. His guns come out and he starts back to where the shot had come from. "We're just passing through!" Tommy yells at nothing, at everything. At these still cars with their dead passengers, and at the live person who'd taken aim at them. It's- it's a bad idea to yell. He realizes this only after he's said something.

"Get down!" Adam hissed, immediately pulling Tommy back against the RV, behind Adam's arm and he goes quiet, listening. For what, he doesn't even know.

There's nothing but the wind, the occasional creaking of rusting metal. But the hair on the back of Adam's neck is standing up. "We have to move. We have to _move_."

"We need to change that tire if we're getting _anywhere_," Tommy hisses back, guns pointed at the ground instead of somewhere stupid, like at the cars where a shot could ricochet, and that's very nearly as stupid as yelling at nobody. Or somebody. Somebody who possibly took out their tire. "Did it feel like you ran over anything?" It's going to take some work getting the spare tire out of the storage space beneath the RV; yeah, they were totally prepared for something like this, but this is going to take some time. A car tire isn't exactly the same size as an RV tire. "Cover me."

Just as they move, another shot rings out, and the driver's side mirror to the RV shatters. Adam throws up his hand against the flying shards of glass, then he's pushing off the safety on the rifle and firing into the tall grass, teeth gritted, face hot with an instant, consuming _rage_. "Mother_fucker_," he shouts. "We're _passing through!_" Adam fires again, before loading another round in the chambers, ducking as he hears another report. He pushes Tommy down into the grass, his heart pounding. For the first time in a year or more, their lives are in danger and he _hates_ it.

"What do we do?" Tommy asks, certain that Adam can feel the hammer of his heart even through his back. If they get up, then they're risking another shot, and there's _no way_ Tommy's going to lie here and let that be Adam. No fucking way. "You see anyone?" God, if they have to give up the RV, they're giving up _everything_. For a second, Tommy thinks of their bed, the same one they've had since the very beginning.

Then, a voice: "Give us what y'got. All your food, all your supplies. Your guns. Y'do that and y'walk away."

Staring into the grass and the dirt, Adam puts a finger on the trigger of the rifle and takes a deep breath. This - leaving Ratliff - was his idea. This falls on him if it goes badly. Because it's going badly now. It's his job to salvage the situation.

"We don't have anything you need," Adam says, not looking up. His other hand in the small of Tommy's back tells him to _stay there_. Don't move. "We haven't hurt you."

At that, he moves, swinging the rifle up, and around, aimed toward the voice. Just as he fires, Adam hears the sharp crack and feels the burning in his shoulder, hot enough to take his breath away in a ripped-out cry. _Shit_. He doesn't even know if he got the asshole.

"_Jesus Christ!_" At the sound of that, of the shot and Adam's voice, Tommy's scrambling to his feet, pistols raised along with his voice. "Take whatever you want! We're not trying to hurt anyone or do anything, just... take what you want! Just let us pass through!" Oh god, oh _fuck._ Adam. He's _bleeding._ Those fuckers, whoever they are, _shot_ him. Tommy's face is red, with anger, with _fear_, with worry. "You better not fuckin' die on me," Tommy warns Adam. "Stay the fuck down, now they gotta deal with me."

After Tommy's shout, the shooter shows himself, along with three other guys, grizzled and skinny and looking like they haven't had a square meal in a _long_ time, coming out from four separate spots on the road. "Don't you two move a muscle," one warns, keeping them at gunpoint while the other three get on board to see what they can get. Tommy and Adam's food, blankets, even their spare guns, taking them out in armloads to the dip between the two sides of the highway. And once they've got what they want, they... leave. Leave Tommy gunless, leave Adam without his rifle, and worse than that, leave Adam bleeding from a gunshot.

Hissing with the pain, Adam sits back against the RV. When he touches his shoulder, his hand comes away bloody, but he can _move_ the shoulder. "Check under the mattress," he whispers at Tommy, "for the knives." And maybe they didn't get the semi tucked under the driver's seat. "Check on Grizz." Fuck, his shoulder hurts. "We gotta move." He doesn't say it, because Tommy knows it. _Hurry. Be careful._

"Just a second, just... hang on." There's something rough and shaky in Tommy's voice as he tears Adam's shirt open at the shoulder, looking at the wound there. It's just a graze. Just a graze. Oh god. "You need to be cleaned up. I gotta- and then I'll get the knives. You're more important than that, even Grizz." Tommy doesn't realize that when he blinks, tears streak down his face. It doesn't matter, he doesn't feel them. "I gotta get you cleaned up. Just- can you lean on me?" He tries to get under Adam's other arm to pull him to his feet. "We just gotta get inside. And lock the door. We can stay here for a little bit. They got what they wanted. I- I gotta get you cleaned up. It can't get infected."

Tommy had broken two fingers, Adam had sprained an ankle, had the near miss with the uncoyote, but this is the first time either of them has been shot. And by a human too. It makes Adam _furious_ as he pushes to his feet. "We have to move," he says. "They might come back." How did they not know how to take care of themselves, after all this time? That they have to take from Adam and Tommy; it makes Adam want to hunt them down and shoot them. When he's on his feet and his head swims, instinctively, he raises an arm to lean on the trailer which sends pain shooting through him. "FUCK!" He shouts. "God_damnit_."

"Take it _easy_," Tommy hisses, getting under Adam's other arm. "You're gonna sit down and I'm gonna fix you, and-" He fights back his own panic, at seeing Adam's blood like that, and being utterly helpless to have been able to help him. Adam had held him down to keep _him_ safe. "We'll move when you're bandaged up." Why these guys had just waited and raided makes just a little bit of sense to Tommy. Why work for yourself when you can steal from others? Benefit from other peoples' hard work. Fuck _that._ "I'm sorry," he murmurs, getting Adam back onto the RV, and inside, it's completely ransacked. But at least they'll have running water to wash Adam's wound. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"It's not your fault." Teeth clenched as he sits on one of the dinette chairs, Adam pulls off his t-shirt and tosses it away, craning to see what exactly is going on on his shoulder. He can't see bone, just blood. "Fuck. At least I could've gotten one of them. Fuckers." He looks up to Tommy, this time and sees the fear on his face, the tightness. "Tommy," Adam murmurs through gritted teeth. "I'm okay."

"No you're not. You got shot. Because I went out and started yelling. I just thought-" Tommy's mouth tightens into a line as he goes through the galley to find a cloth (and really, what would ransackers need with a dishcloth, honestly), running it under hot water, touching the open mark in Adam's shoulder in careful little dabs. "I thought if I said we were just passing through then they'd leave us alone. I just thought. I just." His voice sounds hollow, so rife with guilt that he's numb with it. Cleaned up, it's just a graze, just a flesh wound, but all of those _justs_ mean nothing. Because Adam got shot. "You're probably gonna have a bitch of a scar."

"Tommy." Adam catches Tommy's wrist and holds it tight. "Look at me. _Look_ at me." Something he hasn't said in months, strong and firm, brooking no argument. "It's just a flesh wound. It will heal. I just need you to clean it up and bandage it. Then we'll figure out what to do. Okay?"

Tommy's eyes are dark and miserable when they meet Adam's. "I'm _sorry,_" he whispers, looking at the wound on Adam's arm, then the shape of the words on Adam's lips, then back to his eyes. "We can't keep the RV. 'cause what if there are other people like that?" Oh, and suddenly there's another emotion there, riding high along with the guilt, one that Adam himself felt outside. Rage. "I promised to keep you fucking safe and I _didn't._ I'm going to. We're going to get our shit together and we're going to _go._ We're going to get to the fucking west coast and I'm going to make _sure_ of it."

"I know." Adam only has the hand on his good arm to use and it's bloody, but he reaches up anyway, touching Tommy's face. "We need to move. Hurry." _Please_. Adam was keeping Tommy safe. He's reminded again that _that_ is what matters. Just that.

"You stay right there. Just... you just got shot, so you sit down and I'll do it." It's funny, all the things that those _assholes_ took at gunpoint, they left some of the things that would make the most sense to take: the First Aid kit, some of their pre-prepared food (Tommy's glad to see that the stew Adam had made last night is still sitting in the fridge; he can heat it up while they talk about what to do next), and the knives that are still hidden underneath of the mattress. That he's got Adam's blood on his face doesn't faze Tommy; maybe he feels like he deserves to be marked like that, a reminder of another mistake, another lesson learned the hardest way possible. "'kay, I'm gonna try and be gentle." Bactine's sprayed on the wound before Tommy presses a gauze pad to it, wrapping it up around Adam's underarm and shoulder to hold it in place. "I was thinking... maybe... motorbikes? Do you know how to ride?"

"I've never even been on a motorcycle," Adam tells him, rotating his shoulder to see if he can. It stings like hell, but he can move it. Good. "Can I have some Tylenol?" He leans back in the chair, adrenaline rush suddenly running out before he has a chance to gird himself. If they take motorcycles, they are much more mobile. Smaller targets. But more exposed. "Tommy, I'm sorry," he whispers. "If we'd stayed in Ratliff, this never would've happened."

"We'll learn." Tommy's nod is decisive, and he runs a hand over Adam's newly-short hair. He likes it. Not that it changes what he thinks of Adam or how _beautiful_ he is, but... he's still getting used to it, because it reminds him of Before. He grabs Tylenol out of the first aid kit, and some water from the tap for Adam to drink. "And don't you _dare_ apologize to me. Not for _anything._ I didn't wanna stay there. If I did, I would have said something. I wanted..." For a second, Tommy's _I can do this_ expression cracks like a dry riverbed, and he rubs the pad of his thumb against an eye. "If you go, I wanna go with you. Wherever it is."

"Tommy, come here," Adam whispers after he's taken the pills and set the glass aside. The only place for Tommy to be is on Adam's lap, but that's idea. He can wrap his good arm around Tommy and they've both still got Adam's blood on them, but he rests his cheek against Tommy's. Anything he could say, Tommy knows. Love. Devotion. Need.

Tommy's careful of Adam's shoulder, wrapping an arm around Adam's ribs, instead, his other hand stroking that soft transition between hair and skin at the nape of Adam's neck. "I want you to lock yourself in here," he starts, still cheek to cheek with Adam, voice low and shaky in his ear. "I'm gonna go find something smaller that I can drive us back to Tallahassee in. I'm gonna get some guns. I'm... fuck, I'm so _sorry._"

"Don't say that anymore," Adam tells him firmly, quieting Tommy with his mouth. "You're not going by yourself," he goes on, mouth to mouth, breathing the words into Tommy's. "I'm going with you." Tommy needs someone to cover him. "I need a new shirt."

"You're hurt," Tommy reasons. "You gotta stay and- I can't let you get hurt again. I can't even risk it. It's not that far. I'm-" But Adam's kissing him, and Tommy can't help but respond to it, reassured by how _right_ it feels. They've never left the other alone, not in the entire time of the outbreak and the After that came with it. They've always been at the very least within earshot, and almost always a touch away. "I'll find you something. I was thinking... we find a motel room in Tallahassee and stay there for a few days. Find what we need. And get moving again. And we can barricade ourselves in... so you can heal." Adam's exactly right: Tommy will only be soothed when he lets himself be soothed, and right now isn't the time for that. Now they have to _do_ something before night comes. They can't be in this RV all night. It's not safe anymore.

"I can't let you go by yourself." Adam is nearly pleading. "Tommy. Don't leave me here." The idea: not knowing where Tommy is, what is happening. Just the _idea_ makes Adam want to vomit with fear. He might just go insane. His hand is fisted in Tommy's shirt. "Don't. We can go together."

Hunting knives are pretty stupid and Rambo-ish, right? Or Lambo, in their case, even though he hasn't been Lambo in a long, long time. But they're still there, in their sheathes, under the mattress. Put there just in case they came across something that would be better as dinner than anything else, now they're their only protection between here and Tallahassee. _Their_ protection. Tommy finds something for Adam to wear, handing it out, and that's his answer to Adam's plea. They do it together. They go forward (or in this case, backtrack) _together._ "You stay close to me, then. I wanna be able to feel your breath on the back of my neck."

At least it's his left shoulder that was injured. Adam isn't rendered _entirely_ useless. He shrugs into the shirt and takes a knife and he nods at Tommy. They can do this. They _have_ to do this. They don't have a choice.

When they step out of the RV again, Adam looks around slowly, eyes narrowed. The nearest exit is about a half-mile back. It's nearly 5 PM. He just nods to himself and starts walking, right behind Tommy, close.

The walk is quiet, actually, since the people who'd raided them are probably long gone to enjoy the spoils of _shooting someone_ to steal what Tommy and Adam had worked so hard for. Now and then, Tommy reaches for Adam's hand, for a touch, a squeeze, his face tense and wary and tuned to any sound that could be out of the ordinary. "We'll be there before dark," he whispers to Adam, and that's a reassurance in and of itself: that they won't be walking in the dark, exposed with no real way to protect themselves. "I'll be able to find us some food. You just... just follow me."

They left Grizzy alone in the RV. Adam can't even remember if they left him food. Shit. But there isn't a damned thing they can do about that now. Now they have to watch their own asses. The gash in his shoulder aches, even with the pain reliever he took and Adam walks carefully, trying not to jar himself, looking from side to side, scanning for anything. Everything.

"Almost there," Tommy mutters, as the sun starts to get low in the sky. The exit had nothing on it, just as it had been when they'd crossed it in the RV, and the weather's mild enough that they aren't freezing their asses off, or baking in the sun. But still, Tommy worries. "How does your shoulder feel? I'm sure we can hit like, a Rexall or something and find better stuff to-" Tommy shivers, thinking how close they'd been to something _serious._ How close he'd come to losing Adam. "Almost there, babyboy. Then you can relax." Just like the other cities they've seen, Tallahassee is dead; the residents are gone in every sense of the word. It's another mark in their favor, even if it's just a little one. Now all they have to do is find a motel that still uses real keys instead of those electronic cards.

The first motel they find is well away from the highway, back toward a small town that doesn't even seem to have a name so far as Adam can tell. And the hotel looks like it was seedy before the outbreak. The Sunrise Motel. But by the time they see it, Adam's shoulder is _throbbing_ and he really wants to lie down. They haven't seen anyone. He follows Tommy into the small lobby that, like everything else, smells musky and dusty and stale.

Tommy grabs the first key he can, and the room it opens is both drab and tacky, with the floral bedspread and art that's offensive only in the way that it's so terribly painted. The carpet reminds him of Oscar the Grouch, and there's a little Formica table and Naugahyde chair in the corner. "Sit down. I wanna look at your arm." The first aid kit came with them, and Tommy sets it up, looking at Adam in the fading light. "I don't have any lanterns. They... they took them. Fucking lazy mother_fuckers._ I bet that's what they do. They just take from people who know how to look after themselves so they don't have to learn." Once Adam's cleaned up again, he can lie down, and Tommy'll do what he can to find rudimentary supplies. Something to eat, maybe, some lanterns if he's lucky. And bring some things to block the door for the time being. "Okay, take your shirt off. Right arm out, don't try and move your left one." The other sleeve can be eased down, once Adam's good arm and head are free.

Adam does what he's told and he keeps his head down. It's already bad enough that he's making Tommy worry. But he's also still so angry that he wants to hurt the assholes who shot at them. He's weak, too. Adam is a detriment, which just makes him more angry. "It'll be okay," he says, voice a rough whisper. If he has to will it so.

"I know," Tommy answers. Because no matter what, Tommy's going to make sure it'll be okay. He'll look after Adam the same way he'd done when Adam has sprained his ankle, and the same way Adam had looked after Tommy when he'd broken his fingers. But this is more than that, _serious_, something that could get infected, or worse. The gauze is bled through when Tommy carefully peels it away. "Okay, let it dry out a little bit. Don't touch it, don't let anything else touch it. I'm gonna go see if I can at least find a flashlight, or some candles, or something." His kiss is short and fierce, possessive. This is his and nobody will take it away. "I'll be _right_ back." His knife is pressed into Adam's good hand. "I'm just going to the office. I'll be right back." Another kiss, and Tommy slips out into the growing night.

If Adam sits staring at the door, he'll go crazy. He knows it. So after a moment, he gets up, walking over to the mirror that's attached over the dresser and peers at his shoulder as best he can in the growing gloom. It's an ugly gash, like a wide stripe. Tommy's right; Adam will have a scar. "You're a fool," he tells himself.

For endangering Tommy, for thinking that this is a good idea, leaving what is safe. Now they're holed up in a fucking hotel that should probably be torn down. Jesus Christ. Adam holds on to the dresser tightly to keep from going after Tommy.

Tommy's not even ten minutes, and when he comes back, there's almost something like excitement on his face. Not only did he find a flashlight, but he found an entire box of safety candles, _and_ a set of short-range radios! So if one of them _has_ to go somewhere by himself - like right now - then they can stay in touch. Batteries, too! "Hi," he breathes, flashing a hopeful smile at Adam. "I'm gonna clean you up by candlelight. Romantic, huh." Like the first time they'd colored Adam's hair, back in Iowa. Tommy yanks all the curtains across, leaving them in deep, pitch blackness until there's the flick of his lighter like a miniature sun. Just for a moment. Then he's lighting candles and dripping the wax onto the bedside table, letting it pool enough that he can stick the butt of the candle in it so it'll stay up. "Why aren't you lying down?"

"I wanted to look at it." Adam sits, though, gesturing vaguely to his wound. The relief at Tommy being back is strong, almost enough to make him light-headed and he slumps forward, an elbow on a knee. "Was there any food?"

"Nothing good," Tommy answers. "Vending machine, but everything was bad. No water, either." Which is bad. Really, really bad. "Let me look at it. I'll use the kit to get you cleaned up, and then we can figure out what to do next." He turns Adam toward the light, wiping at the wound with an antiseptic cloth-thing (they smell like those lemon cloths he'd get at like, KFC or something, Before). "When it's light, we'll go and see what else is around here." So they can _move on._ Find a better way, a safer one. Where Adam can't get hurt.

"We should've brought food." What were they thinking? Leaving without food or water. Amateurs. What a fucking amateur move. Add to that the sting of cleaning the wound and Adam's gritting his teeth together. "You'd almost think we want to get ourselves killed. If we don't have food here, we should find a vehicle and go back to the RV."

"Breathe," Tommy instructs, not looking away from what he's doing. Once, these fingers played guitars, and the deftness with which they moved Before isn't lost on how he touches Adam. "You couldn't carry anything anyway. I wouldn't make you. Keep breathing, slow." He puts ointment around the edge of the wound before putting another gauze pad on, taping it and winding more gauze around. "There, now you've got mummy-arm." The question is, how long have any of the cars been sitting here? The gas is probably long evaporated, anyway. Tonight, they can sleep here. Tomorrow, they'll move again, get something to drive, salvage what they can from the RV, and make a new plan. Tommy's already thinking that since it's early in the good weather, they could take back roads. That'd be safer.

Adam shifts his shoulder, feeling the bandage, how he can move, the now-muted sting, before putting his head in his hand. Tommy's right; he can't carry anything, not even a backpack the way the gash is on his shoulder. They both need to eat, they both need to sleep. "Did Grizz have any food when we left?"

"There's always cat food out," Tommy answers, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking inventory of what's in the room. The dead TV is pushed in front of the door, just in case, and he knows that from the outside it doesn't even look as though there are people in here.

All Adam can think to say, over and over again is _I'm sorry_, but it doesn't change anything. He aches and they're both exhausted, filthy and running on adrenaline in a fucked-up situation. For that time there, things had been _peaceful_; he can't help but regret leaving.

Leaving means the promise of new things, possibly better things, and if Tommy can have those things with Adam, then it's worth it. Except for that _fucking_ gunshot, god. "Come here," he instructs, stretching out on the bed, his back against the headboard. The light of the candles is flickering and warm and gold; for this moment right now, Tommy can relax, just a little bit. Grizz is going to be okay - he'd been okay-ish before Tommy and Adam had shown up in Ratliff in the first place - Adam's cleaned up and bandaged, and there's nothing to hear outside. It's quiet, and they know that quiet means safe.

Lying on his good shoulder, hand resting on Tommy's hip, Adam stays there, watching Tommy's face in the murk. The bed smells gross; moldy and musty. One of the few static things in their lives has been their bed as weird as that is; he misses it. If they get motorcycles, they'll lose it entirely. "I love you," he whispers.

Tommy strokes a hand over Adam's hair, soothing himself with the repetition of movement. Adam's seen him do it a hundred times to the cat, who's all alone in the RV. God. He thinks of the bed, too, how they'd started out sharing it for company and safety, then for warmth, and then... with love, both surprising and easy, and completely natural. They won't have that security anymore, if they leave the RV. His face is both expressionless and thoughtful, in the way his eyes move as if reading something only he can see. He's thinking about what they're going to need to get come daylight, where they'll need to walk to get it. All he can do is hope that Adam's arm doesn't get infected. "I love you too," he answers, as soft as the dark around them. "Get some sleep, okay?"

Adam nods, but sleep is slow to come. It's silly, he knows, to be sentimental about a life that is only slightly less dangerous than the moment they're in now, but he leans a little bit forward and rests his forehead to Tommy's and swears that he can taste the sweetness of plums. When he does wake, his throat is so dry that it makes it hard to swallow.


	2. Touched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes some time, but Adam and Tommy find a place they can call home.

_May, 2015_

Learning how to ride a motorcycle had been easier than Tommy had thought. For now, Adam's riding passenger to him, until his shoulder's completely better. The wound still looks pretty bad to Tommy, but it _is_ healing, thank god. And clean, too. They'd had to spend more than a week in Tallahassee, getting the Dyna and learning how to ride it (Tommy wiped out like a motherfucker, but at least he'd had a helmet and leather jacket on). Adam caught on really quick, not that Tommy had been surprised; in this life in the After, they've had to become quick learners.

Now they're driving down some two-lane road with a hitch behind them with water and camping gear, tire patches and CO2 cartridges so they can fix flats. When Adam's arm's better, they'll stop and get a bike for him. For now, it's just them, the bike, the hitch, their gear. And most importantly, Adam.

The rides are silent for the helmets they wear and the sound of wind that rushes past them like the voices of ghosts in the empty country, but nature calls and Tommy has to answer.

"When did you wanna stop for the night?" Tommy squirts a little bit of hand sanitizer on his fingers when he's done, pulling fingerless leather gloves back over his palms. "I was thinking we could heat up some of that canned stew. Get the tent ready." And sleeping bags, now that they don't have their mattress anymore. Tommy misses it more than he misses Whoppers.

"When you feel like it." Adam shakes his head, running a hand through his hair after setting down the new rifle (he literally rides shotgun these days) and (carefully) rolling his shoulders. Since Tommy has to do the driving, they stop when he can't do it anymore. Adam still feels fucking pathetic, even more so when they had to leave Grizzy near what they knew was an inhabited town. Fuck.

Adam walks off the vibrations of the bike; his shoulder aches, but less everyday. They're almost to Houston and expect some dead-car snarls. "Do you think he's all right?" Adam asks that too much. He can't help it.

God, leaving Grizz behind had _sucked_, and maybe Tommy had had a pretty fierce lump in his throat when they'd left him in town. "I think he's okay. He's pretty tough shit, you know? Like you. Lemme see your arm. We can clean it up before getting back on the road. I think I've got another couple of hours in me." A hand comes up to the back of Adam's neck, bringing him down so Tommy can kiss him. "You hurting pretty bad? Is your ass numb?" The next town they come across, they'll go through and see what they can salvage, what they can take along. The saddlebags have all of the immediate stuff: water and first aid, some clothes, the smaller repair stuff. Tommy knows that stuff is just fine; Adam sits on it, pretty much. The trailer is checked, and everything there seems to be okay, too. And once again, they've taken to carrying guns; Tommy's on his hips, Adam's across his back in easy reach.

Adam shrugs off his jacket and then lifts his t-shirt off his bad arm, craning his neck to see, too. In the last few days, the oozing has slowed down, but it's still disgusting. But uninfected. "I'm fine." They have more to worry about than him.

They haven't _seen_ anyone in days, but that doesn't mean that there aren't people out there. Adam can sense them, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Maybe we should find a hotel for the night."

"Whatever you wanna do. It'll probably be better for your shoulder to sleep in a real bed." After running his fingers through his own hair, Tommy pulls out the first aid kit and changes the gauze on Adam's arm. _Sick._ But clean, at least.

Sleep has been a challenge. Adam tends to want to turn over onto his bad shoulder and that wakes him up with a hiss. The ground is hard.

When Adam's shoulder is wrapped again, he pulls his clothes back on and gives Tommy a small smile in thanks, reaching out with his other hand to touch Tommy's shoulder. "Maybe outside of Houston. We'll see how you feel."

"I'm fine." His hips ache and his fingers are cramped up, but those are little things that are easily worked out once they're settling for the night. It's Adam that Tommy's concerned about, and maybe, if they find one, they can grab an air mattress to make sleeping on the ground a little less... campy. Out of pure luck, they found a little gas grill, and with the canned crap they've got packed, they can have some kind of half-decent meal. They've been here before; they've done this. Tommy catches Adam's hand and presses his mouth to the pad beneath his thumb, then nods at the bike. "Ready, babyboy?"

With a nod, Adam climbs back onto the back of the bike. He gets his helmet on first and then gets the rifle where he needs it to be, sitting back as Tommy revs the engine and takes off. If nothing else, an advantage to the bike; they have to siphon much more rarely; it's the small things that make it easier to keep going.

~~

The middle of Texas is nothing. Hour after hour of nothing. It makes for fast going, but there's nothing; it feels more apocalyptical than anything they've seen so far. And it's hot already; under his leather jacket, Adam sweats. When they see a mirage-like gas station, he taps on Tommy's shoulder to pull over, if only just to stretch.

Tommy's helmet goes up and down in a nod, and he pulls into the rest station. It's dry and it's hot; even with the wind whipping by them, there's a ring of sweat around the collar of his shirt, forming a T down his spine and under his arms. When his helmet comes off, the sweat makes his hair stand up in fourteen different directions. "You doing okay?" The first words as Tommy dismounts the bike and all but staggers to the hitch. He feels all bowlegged and numb, and there's a joke somewhere in his head about saving a horse and riding a cowboy. Or his passenger, whatever. He snorks a little laugh before pulling water out for both of them.

"I never want to live in Texas," Adam says by way of answer, his helmet set on the seat of the bike as he shrugs off his jacket, his own shirt dark with sweat. Just after he says that, he remembers that Brad was from Texas, and it reminds him anew of what they're doing, and why. What about his house? Has it been raided? Is it falling apart? What Adam wouldn't give for a shower or their bed. Ratliff already feels like a dream. "I'm going to see what's inside. Cover me." He's got his rifle in his good hand and he can only hear the wind.

"Okay." Tommy gets out his guns, just in case, because they've _just_ gotten enough stuff to be able to travel without panic of running out, but there might be something useful in the station. "Texas is like the hellmouth, honestly." Before Adam can go toward the store part of the station, Tommy stops him to check on the bandage, making sure the gauze is still in place. Then he nods for Adam to go ahead, because Tommy's got his back. Always. "I remember being a kid and just, like, begging my mom for a chocolate bar or something when we'd stop to fill up on family trips. Anything to get away from Lisa, you know? She... she'd fall asleep on me." For a second, his heart _hurts_, with the almost-sure knowledge that his family's gone. But Adam's his family, now, and if he didn't have that, Tommy's sure he'd go insane, or be dead himself.

The store is musty and dark, like everything else in the world, and it's been raided, but again, that's not new. Bottles of soda have exploded, but there are no dead people. Maybe, Adam thinks, because they're in the middle of nowhere. In an aisle, he crouches down, reaching for a box of Cheez-its, working the top open to see if they're still good. He has to use his teeth on the plastic. (It's moments like this when he realizes just how much they've changed.) When he finally reaches inside and tastes one, he tells Tommy, "Cheez-its. They have Oreos here, too, if they're still good." He's craving fresh fruit; they haven't seen any for over a week.

Tommy shakes his head, prowling around to make sure they're truly alone. Being caught like this would be a bad thing, when Adam's already hurt - but on the mend, thank _fuck_ \- and all they've got is Adam's rifle and Tommy's two guns. It's always been okay like this before (not Before, but simply before), but then, they'd only had unthinking unpeople to worry about. After what happened with the RV, it's proof that maybe the unpeople weren't nearly as dangerous as they'd thought. At least they weren't fucking _conniving_ and desperate. "Not hungry. Besides, I bet that icing stuff in the middle is totally shit, now. How're the Cheez-its?" The area's clear enough that for a moment, Tommy can tuck his guns away and run a hand through Adam's hair. "I can't even think if there's anything else we need." Which means they should get moving while they've got daylight, and find a safe place to put up their tent. He doesn't mind sleeping under a carpet of stars, honestly, not when Adam's right there beside him. It'd be nice if the ground were a little more comfortable, though.

"Cheez-its are good." Adam stands, taking that box and one more. "I'm just gonna pee and I'll be ready to go." Even if the thought of getting back on the bike makes him want to throw a fit and say he won't go. But what option do they have? He hands Tommy the boxes (can't pee with no hands), and he heads toward the back to pee and see if there's any water, something they can never have too much of.

Not twenty seconds later, Tommy hears a shouted, "Fuck!" and the firing of the rifle.

_"Adam!"_ It comes out sounding closer to a scream than anything else, and Tommy's running to where Adam's standing, rifle in hand. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck is it?" Both of his own guns are drawn, and he looks around, all fatigue blown away by the sound of Adam's voice and the crack of the gun.

Pale, even his bad hand on the rifle as it's pointed, Adam peers into the dark of the backroom, where they can hear the scrabble of something moving. "I don't know. I just had something fucking coming at me. I fired before I knew for sure." If it was a person - his stomach twisted at the idea. But they hear scrabbling again and Adam loads the rifle, ready to fire again.

"I'm going first." There's no way Tommy's letting Adam get into any kind of danger at _all_, let alone when all he wants to do is rock a whiz, okay? "If there's anyone there, fuckin' say something." That same sound, like fingernails picking at wood. It reminds Tommy of the sound a dog makes when it walks across a floor. Oh Christ, what if it's an un-animal? Are those all gone, too? "Get ready," he whispers to Adam, and shines his flashlight into the room.

Raccoons. Who've made a home. And who look pretty scared shitless, probably as scared as Tommy and Adam themselves look. "Okay, I don't even wanna risk it if they're rabid." Raccoons, foxes, wolves, dogs. Coyotes. Even if it's not the strain that caused the outbreak, neither of them _really_ want to be attacked by a raccoon. "Let's, uh. Leave them alone." The relief that it's not something (or someone) serious is so great that for a second, Tommy feels lightheaded.

"Yeah, okay." Adam backs away slowly, not lowering the gun as he stepped backwards and away.

The raccoons doesn't follow and it doesn't take long for Adam and Tommy be back under the Texas sun, a little the worse for wear. They even lost their Cheez-its. The whole situation is ridiculous; Adam would laugh except that his shoulder is _killing_ him and probably bleeding again. "Jesus Christ," he mutters.

"Come here," Tommy says softly, pushing up Adam's sleeve to look at his shoulder. Yeah, there's blood seeping through, and why the _Christ_ is it bleeding again? It's been covered when they travel and when Adam sleeps, and left open to the air to try and dry it out when they've been resting. It makes Tommy worry that something's wrong, that Adam's going to get sick, that the wound won't get better. No. _No._ He can't think that.

"We're gonna stop early today," Tommy says instead, just before pulling his helmet down over his face. "You need the rest. And you need to put some serious heal-time into your arm." The longer it stays open like this, the easier it'll be for some kind of infection to set in, and Tommy can't let that happen. "I'll make sure the batteries work on the radios... see if I can find you an air mattress." Yeah, he just put his helmet on, but Tommy takes it off to look up at Adam. "Just hold onto me." Finished with a touch to the side of Adam's face and a press of one mouth to the other.

~~

They end up camping out in a hotel in Lubbock, Texas for nearly two weeks. It's boring as fuck, but Adam's shoulder closes up again. They are able to find food without a problem. Adam sits, more often than not, on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. "I hate Texas," he says. It's become a mantra.

They play cards, check their supplies; Tommy checks Adam's shoulder every couple of hours. It _is_ boring, when the weather's hot and dry and stale, and he keeps expecting to see, like, tumbleweeds rolling by, or that when they move on, they're going to stumble into some kind of Old-West town. God, at least they could get a vehicle working; the idea of riding a horse is alternately _hilarious_ and terrifying. "We're not gonna be here much longer. You can have your own bike, if you want." Tommy tips Adam a smile and a wink that tries to be teasing. It's good to see Adam heal up, it's _reassuring_, and Tommy parks himself next to Adam on the bed. Yeah, they're bored, and for no good reason other than he _can_, Tommy leans over and kisses the side of Adam's throat.

It never doesn't make Adam shiver, a touch like that. He smiles just a little. "I can, huh? Thanks." But he turns, reaching up with his free hand to cup Tommy's cheek, to nuzzle their mouths together. Anything he could say, about the need and want that he feels for Tommy has been said time and again, but that doesn't make any of them less true.

Here's something to pass the time: they're on a bed in a hotel with nobody around (and the hotel's not that bad, honestly, just kind of musty like everywhere else they've stopped), and Tommy urges Adam back against the headboard so he can work his way down Adam's body with mouth and fingers and make him forget that his shoulder still hurts, make him forget that he's bored. And most importantly, make Adam forget that they're barely halfway to California.

And Tommy's form of distraction works.

~~

In New Mexico, they run into the first mountains they've seen since they left Iowa for Florida. The land is green and lush when it's not desert; a series of opposites. Even in the desert, though, they can see packs of what they assume are wild horses in the distance and it's beautiful. Adam has his own motorcycle, and they cover ground easily; he thinks of Grizzy and hopes he's okay.

It's some of the most incredible scenery Tommy's ever seen. He'd never been to Texas before now, or New Mexico, and now they're able to see it on their own time, in their own way. At night, Tommy gets the tent set up while Adam gets a fire going; the sound of coyotes baying off in the distance makes Tommy feel sick and shivery. All he can think of is the night that Adam got bitten, and how _close_ he'd come to losing him. That had been on Adam's 30th birthday, and it feels like a million years ago. Changing out of his sweaty road-clothes, Tommy pulls on cleanish jeans and a hoodie with white stripes on it that he'd found in a store a week ago. "Is it wrong that that sound-" With a hand waved at the distance, "-scares the shit out of me?" It means that Tommy curls up next to Adam, knees to his chest, pulling in the warmth from the fire. "I just... I can't stand the sound of it."

"It's okay," Adam murmurs, pulling Tommy closer, though he's got the rifle right at his hip. If the virus really did die out, then they have nothing to worry about. And he speaks as it occurs to him, "the world is as much theirs as ours anymore, isn't it? We can keep the fire going." So many things have changed and become foreign: truly clean clothes, easily clean bodies, a life where it doesn't feel like their lives are in some kind of constant risk. "We can go a little more and find a place inside?"

"We're already set up. And there's a lot of desert out there to try and find a place inside, babyboy. You comfortable?" An arm creeps around Adam's waist so Tommy can rest his head on Adam's good shoulder - he still thinks of it in those terms, good shoulder, bad shoulder - and try and get warm again. That's the funny thing about the desert: when the sun sets, it's _cold._ "I'm thinking we should probably fasten our sleeping bags together? And sleep like that." With the fire going, of course. Tommy'll get the tent a little closer, re-stake it, and leave the mesh open so the heat can come in. Simple things that aren't simple at all anymore.

"Okay." Adam can do that. In a moment. Despite the cold, despite the danger, there's something amazing, too, about living like this. In a way that Adam Before never would have imagined. The stars seem brighter without the glow of city lights to dull them. He wraps his arms around Tommy and tries to remember what he knows about constellations. It's precious little; there's a dipper, or two. The sky seems infinite though and in that moment, Adam can't hate their life.

There's time to eat, still, and time to look up at the stars above them, starting to blaze instead of merely glow. Tommy curls up into Adam's embrace, fisting and unfisting his hands from having them wrapped around the handlebars of the bike all day. Adam thinks about Before and how amazing _now_ is; Tommy doesn't even realize that he's not thinking about the fact that he would probably drop a guitar if it was handed to him. He's thinking instead about what it'll be like tucked into a sleeping bag _with_ Adam instead of just beside him. He's thinking about how it'll be good to be warm. He's thinking he loves Adam and would go through anything to hang onto this. Even coyotes. "You warm enough?"

Adam nods. They're warm enough for a little while longer, anyway, before the cold gets too biting. And when they tuck themselves into the sleeping bag, the flickers of the fire bouncing off the wall of the tent, even with the coyotes howling can't break what feels like a spell.

~~

The closer they get to the big cities in the west, the more clogged the freeways get. It shouldn't be surprising, but Adam is caught off guard. Their pace slows through the desert, despite the heat and they fill up the gas tanks whenever the can, so that they aren't caught somewhere without enough to get away. From Phoenix on, they leave I-10 and start on the side roads. Even under his helmet, Adam imagines he can smell the decay. His stomach turns over slowly.

It's a stench that they'd think they'd get used to, but it's still awful and sick-sweet and cloying. The bodies that they find are barely skeletons, but that doesn't take away from the fact that there's so _many_ of them. Tommy's reminded briefly of The Stand, of that part where the ex-rock-star had to find his way down that tunnel thing in New York when it was full of cars, and those cars were full of the dead. Hmp. Not at all that different, now. He tries to breathe through his mouth so he doesn't smell it quite so much, but after a while his stomach imagines he can _taste_ it, and he waves for Adam to pull over for a minute. Chuck it up, get rid of it, move on. That's the plan.

At least the only sounds he's heard so far are their engines, and the waft of breeze through leaves. But it's easy to imagine people, _real_ people, hiding between these packed cars, just... waiting. The side roads are almost a relief.

The tension grows when they see the California state line sign. California. Adam would be lying if he said he really thought he'd ever see California again. It's been six years. A few lifetimes. They don't dare stop, though, because of what might happen; who might be waiting. The safety on Adam's gun is off, his grip on the handlebars tight as hell. Fear makes him jumpy.

What _if_ someone they know is still alive? It's not like all of their friends were idiots, right? It's something Tommy's _terrified_ of. What if it's Adam's mom? Or Tommy's sister? Or anyone at all? There's no way they're going to be the only two people in _Los Angeles_, okay? Or on the other side of that, Tommy imagines that someone like Paris Hilton would have survived out of sheer utter luck. Adam can't tell, but Tommy watches him as much as he watches the road through his visor, making sure one is safe to favor the other. _It's okay_, he'd say, if he could. _I'm gonna be here, all the way._

Just over the Colorado River, Adam signals to pull off the road, over to where they can be shaded by (hidden by) a ramshackle old gas station. He climbs off his bike and pulls off his helmet and leans back against the wall and tries to _breathe_. All that Tommy's been thinking, he realizes and for some reason, the _terror_ of that, of someone they love having to survive without them makes him light-headed and weak. There is that urge again; that urge to pull Tommy in and hide away. From everything. Adam's bent over, hands on his knees, eyes closed. _Breathe_, he tells himself. _Breathe_.

Tommy rests his helmet on the seat of his bike before coming over to Adam, a hand between his shoulderblades. "It's okay," he says, not even knowing if it's the truth anymore. But he has to say it, has to tell Adam, so Tommy can believe it, himself. They're _so close_ to what used to be familiar, and the panic that's in Adam's posture and on his face makes Tommy bend as well, if only to try and see Adam's eyes. "Look at me. Adam, look at me. We're... it's going to be fine. We're going to be okay." The solution is easy, to him. If it's not right, if this place isn't home anymore in any degree... they move on. They can do that. They've proven they can.

Chest heaving (he's nearly hyperventilating), Adam nods. He grips his knees tight and looks at Tommy, at a face that's more familiar than his own. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I ... what if ...." So many what ifs. Too many what ifs. So much that's unknown. 'Taking this as they come' has a whole new meaning in this new world; Adam shakes his head, trying to clear it. "I'm tired of being so fucking scared."

"Don't apologize." There's nothing to be sorry for, not in Tommy's eyes, because he feels the _same._ The glitter and rock lifestyle they'd just started to wade in is gone entirely, and to think about going back to it on any level is... _really_ scary. "Sit down for a sec. Catch your breath, you're gonna pass out or something." Both of Tommy's hands sit on Adam's shoulders, gently pushing him down. "I told you. I _promised_ you. I'd be right here, all the way. If it doesn't feel right, then we don't have to do it." Is he looking for an excuse not to go into LA? The idea of seeing any of his family in the state that the bodies on the highway here had been in is frightening on a level that Tommy can't even fully look at, but worse is the idea that they might be okay. That there's a remainder of the life Before, still here.

Adam slides down the wall and sits, his elbows on his drawn-up knees, his head back. He closes his eyes. It's on the tip of his tongue to confess to Tommy that this was a bad idea, coming here; they should've stayed in Ratliff with the plums and the oranges and Grizzy. With the mosquitoes and the oppressive August heat. With the ocean that is always cold, though.

After a minute, Adam opens his eyes and looks up at Tommy. He reaches out a hand to touch his cheek. _I don't know where I'd be without you. I don't know _what_ I'd be without you_, he thinks. "If we don't like it, we go," is what he says. A promise of his own.

"Deal." Sealed with a kiss, a touch of lips that are chapped from being on the road and the terminal lack of gloss or chapstick. God, what a weird thing to miss, Carmex. "Do you want to stash the bikes and walk? Or do you want to take them in so we can get around faster?" Maysville, population 150. Ratliff, population 4,667. LA, population... four million, pre-outbreak. Is this what agoraphobia is? Not that Tommy knows the proper word for it; to him it tastes like metallic panic in his mouth and pounds like a drum in his ears.

"We need to have transportation," Adam tells him when he has something of a hold on himself. Another deep breath and he can get to his feet, his helmet in one hand, Tommy's hand in his other.

They get to Salton Sea as the sun sets, and a place off the highway called the Sun and Sea Motel. It's as shitty inside as it looks outside, but it uses real keys and they can wheel the bikes into one room and themselves in another one. Cheap furnishings benefiting from the dry air so that the place smells dusty more than moldy. They check for rattlesnakes then Adam peels out of his jacket and when he runs his hand through his hair again, it comes away dusty as well. They are three hours from LA. Three hours. His stomach feels like stone.

Rattlesnakes, okay? Don't even get Tommy started on them, because he's still halfway convinced that he's going to open a drawer in the shitty, non-functioning kitchen and a sidewinder's going to lunge out at him or something, and bite him right on the eye. He sets lanterns up so they've got a little bit of light, and grabs the propane camp stove so they can have something to eat. "How're you feeling now?" He rubs a hand up and down Adam's spine, smelling the dust in his hair combined with the sweat from the heat outside. "I think we could bucket-wash too, if you want."

"In a while, yeah." First, Adam will crank open some cans of Dinty Moore and make sure they both drink enough water. "Sit with me?" The benefit, they've learned, of crashing at motels is that it doesn't look like anyone's there. Of course, for all Adam and Tommy know, there could be other people there, but there were no signs. He tugs Tommy down onto bed with him and he laces their fingers together; just that simple contact eases him.

Tomorrow. They'll get to LA tomorrow. "Where should we go when we get there?"

Tommy rubs the back of Adam's hand with his thumb, thinking. At this point, he doesn't even want to go to LA. This is plenty far enough. They're close, but they're not _there._ But he answers anyway, knowing that Adam needs an answer of some sort. "Your place. I don't wanna go to Burbank." Adam's house isn't quite like the McMansion they'd found that first awful day, but at least it's in a gated community as well. "You have a spare key buried in the backyard or something?"

"Shit," Adam has to think about that. "I don't know. We can break a window." His house. His _house_. For a second, Adam can't even remember what his old house (from Before) looks like. "Okay." Maybe, he's thought, his family went there. Maybe they're there now.

Or maybe they're all dead and long rotted. "Jesus," Adam whispers, rubbing a hand over his face. "I am so ... I'm just so freaking out." As much as he does these days. Quietly with a sense of distance from all but what he can see and touch.

"I know." For all the times that Tommy's freaked out, Adam's been there, and now it's Tommy's turn to help. He pulls Adam into a hug, just to share the simple sense of touch, of closeness, and kisses Adam's dusty hair. "If you don't want to go, we don't have to. I'm just- there still has to be people there, you know? And I'm-" Adam can feel the way Tommy shakes his head, just a little. "I don't know how to deal with that, anymore." _I love you,_ he thinks, the three words both easy and fiercely possessive; he remembers the LA riots in 1992 when Rodney King had been beaten up. That was just a police case. This is an epidemic and there's no way the living residents of LA would just sort of go peacefully about their business.

On the flipside of that, they could get so _much_ to protect themselves: better guns, better supplies, better ways to not just survive, but _live._ That's what Tommy wants, and is that too much to ask? Just to live? To have some kind of security with Adam?

What can be reasonably asked for in this new world? Adam and Tommy can't seem to get that part figured out. They aren't asking for the moon.

By turning his head a little, Adam kisses Tommy, slowly. That settles him too, the familiar warmth that exists between them; a constant, no matter what. He can trust it. He can rely on it. He _knows it_. He knows Tommy's body. And there, in the Sun and Sea motel, he can remind himself what matters, the jut of Tommy's hip, the way Tommy's breathing changes when Adam touches him just right. That's all Adam wants. Just that.

They get on the highway late; nearly 10 AM, slowed by trying to find gas - they don't dare ride into LA without nearly a full tank. They've left the trailer at the Sun and Sea and aren't even on the road an hour and a half and I-10 becomes impassable.

Taking no chances, they veer off and take the side roads, going forty-five at the most.

There are times where Tommy wants to ask _are you sure? are you really sure?_, but this is what Adam wants to do, and they've seen worse, experienced _much_ worse. If it's bad, they leave. If it's good, or _can_ be good, then maybe they'll stay. Just as before, Tommy watches Adam through his visor, seeing the tense line of his shoulders and his posture on the bike. It occurs to them if they follow this, it'll take them right into South Central, but at least they won't have gangs to worry about anymore. Hopefully not, anyway, and Tommy waves a hand for Adam to make the turn. He thinks about last night, about the sound of Adam's voice, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands, and the security that lies in that is what gives Tommy his own strength. With Adam, he can do this.

The motorcycle engines seem obscenely loud, almost as if Adam and Tommy are shouting that they are _here_. Adam hates it; the safety is off on his gun again, easily reached.

Suburbs give way to something more like city, but the kind of city that they used to see in old post-Apocalyptic movies. Still with the grass growing up between the cracks in the pavement, but there are signs of life here, small things they've learned to look for: doors that are shut tight instead of swinging open. Wood covering windows. They slow even more, watching. Waiting.

They turn a corner, heading for the hills and Adam sees something right when he turns his head, but when he looks back, there's nothing.

There's no doubt that they're being watched. Tommy can feel it like fingers on his skin, and the urge to stop and yell at them is overwhelming. To tell these eyes to _stop looking_, because he and Adam are survivors, too, and to just let them through. This is worse than the freeway with the raiders, and all he can do is keep thinking that without all the cars, they can get to Adam's house. Soon. Please, god, soon.

The LA skyline hasn't changed. Adam wonders how many bodies are inside. How horrible it must feel to be hemmed in by all that metal and glass. (Before, he couldn't wait to experience LA. The idea, now, makes his skin crawl.) The roar of their engines must serve as a warning because they see no one, even though they know there are people there. There have to be people there. They pass the way to go to Adam's mom's house and he tightens his hold on the handlebars even more. He's half-waiting to be shot at again, but there is _nothing_ aside from the silent watchers they both know are there. It's eerie.

The skirt the downtown area as they head to the hills, but all the stalled cars eventually make it so that they have to ride on the sidewalks as much as anything, finally getting back on the 101 and heading north. All Adam does is point when they can see the Hotel Angeleno. Memories; things they haven't thought of at _all_ in years, come flooding back.

And more and more, it makes Tommy want to stop his bike and tell Adam he can't do this. This isn't their lives anymore, none of it is. All that once glittered... well, the rest is fairly obvious. It's dull now, tarnished, and he pictures what the sun looked like on Adam's skin in Florida. Or how warm their bed had been in Iowa.

This _isn't_ home. _I can't be here,_ Tommy almost says. _I can't do this._ But they don't know what Adam's home will be like; once it had been warm and trendy and fun, big spaces and great furniture, a fantastic booming stereo, the best appliances. A hot tub. Things that feel lavish and unnecessary when running water is a luxury all its own. Or heat in the winter and cool in the summer. Fresh fruit, fresh food. Tommy pulls over for a moment and dismounts, pulling off his helmet so he doesn't feel quite so _hot_ with the anxiety in his guts. "I'm okay," he whispers, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I'm okay, I'm fine."

"Tommy?!" At first Adam didn't even see Tommy pull over, the habit had dictated that he look and check and that slap of panic when Tommy isn't there felt nearly physical. Adam comes running, helmet dropped to the pavement. "Tommy."

All he can do is gather Tommy up and hug him and watch for anything. Everything that might hurt them. There are _so many things_ that can destroy them. To think about it is futile.

To have fought for so long to lose. The idea makes Adam queasy. More queasy. They're somewhere near Wilshire; he's surprised he remembers this. "Just a little farther."

"I just. I... I just need a second." That fear can be paralyzing is a fact they both know so, so well. "I know. We're almost there. I just... it's been so _long._ I just need a second." His arms come up around Adam's waist, words muffled by his face pressed to Adam's collarbone, and Adam can feel him shivering. "I didn't think it'd be this hard." He's good to his word: it's less than a minute before Tommy feels like he can breathe again, instead of like he's wearing cement around his chest. Fear is constant, but panic comes and goes. For now, it's going. "I hope that... that it's what you want it to be. When we get there."

What does Adam even want it to be? The kernel of the idea he'd had had been that if they were going to help rebuild a world, why not where they'd been born, the both of them. Where they had roots. But that idea now seems so _stupid_. So pointless and foolhardy and weak that it makes Adam want to punch something in frustration. "I'm sorry," he whispers, holding Tommy's chin as he kisses him. Please, he thinks. Let this all have been for naught.

They get back on their bikes and weave through the rusting cars on the freeway until they take the exit that Adam would have taken any time he was coming home Before. Up Mulholland and over. The Hollywood sign looks at them in the distance, or what's left of it. Adam doesn't realize that he's crying until he feels the itch of the salt as the tears dry.

The gate to his old neighborhood is open. Not ripped off, just ... open. They drive through and up the streets that are all but clear.

His house is on the left. The gate there is still closed. Still locked. They'll have to climb over the fence. Adam shuts off the engine and takes off his helmet. It's then that he scrubs at his face and stares.

All that was glamorous and high class before has given away to decay. Adam turns to Tommy, not saying a word.

Tommy stands next to Adam, his own helmet sitting on the seat of his bike. Yeah, he remembers this house _really_ well; the party they'd had when they'd first been a band, a _fuck yeah!_ and _get to know you!_ and _let's drink ourselves stupid!_ night all in one. That's when he'd told Adam that it was okay if he wanted to touch Tommy. Then, it had seemed like a friendly thing, something to get the sexy on in performances, and... look where they are, now. He reaches a hand over to take Adam's, squeezing his fingers, feeling numb as he looks from Adam's eyes, pink and puffy, to the fence they're going to have to scale, then back to the one thing that truly matters to Tommy. Anything, anywhere. As long as it's with Adam. "Boost me up," he says softly, breaking the silence. "I'll get the gate open from the inside." How, he's not sure. But, like everything else, they'll get it figured out. And then lock the fucking gate again to shut them off from everything else.

Tommy can only heave himself off one of Adam's shoulders, but they get him over, then it's the trusty Leatherman to the rescue and they essentially take apart the lock again and wheel the bikes back and inside. It's a relief to be quiet.

It feels like coming full circle. That first house they'd gone into in Illinois after Lisa and Monte. Now this. It doesn't feel like Adam's home, not at all. Then the realization hits him. If the gate was locked, that means no one's most likely, in there. His family really is (probably) gone. Adam has to bite hard enough into his lower lip to nearly draw blood to keep from sobbing, but he has his gun in his hand. "Back to back," he whispers.

"Always," Tommy answers, getting his guns out. "I love you." The pain on Adam's face hits Tommy almost hard enough that he feels it, too, and for a moment, he tips his head back against Adam's shoulder in some kind of affection, letting Adam lead. It's his house, he knows it better than Tommy does, but fuck, Tommy's got his back. Once they're inside, once they're safe, then they can let go, if only for a little while. "I'm clear." The grass is overgrown to a length that Tommy amazed. But there's something else: the LA sky is _clear_, no smog, no pollution, and no noise. The ground is green, the sky is blue, the sun as hot as ever. Things that are the same and things that are _incredibly_ different. "You okay, babyboy?"

"I'm fine." At the back, Adam checks all the windows: unbroken. The door, still shut. Did, somehow, everything that happened miss this area? Was it too remote? No stores close by. It's his turn with the Leatherman and the lock is pried.

No alarm to go off this time.

The door opens to the kitchen and breakfast area. In a flash, Adam sees the Maysville house; he shakes his head to clear it, to focus. "Clear."

Further in, the living room, bathroom on the right, then to the big living room. For a moment, Adam doesn't even realize that the pictures on the wall are of _him_. Of Neil and his mom and dad. Brad, even the picture of the band from the video shoot.

Dead. All dead. Adam puts his hand to his mouth and shakes his head. This was the worst idea. What the fuck had he been _thinking_.

It's like stepping into a museum of the dead. Of curiosities and a life that hadn't prepared either of them for what had come after. Tommy holsters one of his guns and reaches for Adam's hand. The look on his face makes Tommy put away his other gun so he can hold Adam's face in both of his hands. "Look at me." What they'd do to focus in the _hardest_ times. "Adam. Look at me. We don't _have_ to be here." God, Lisa and Monte and Longineu; Tommy still feels sick and sorry to the deepest part of his heart for what happened to them, and it makes him swipe his thumb against Adam's cheek to get his attention. "If you want this to be home, we can make it home. If you want to leave... I'll be okay with that, too." They could go to Eaton Canyon, maybe. Where it's secluded and natural, where they could grow what they know how to grow and live the way they now know how to live. Adam's place is too bright, too clean, too angular and hard. And full of too many memories.

"They probably thought we were dead. They probably, they - " Adam _wants_ to believe that. That his parents hadn't _worried_. Hadn't mourned. Because they were alive. _Please_, he pleads to whoever, _don't let them have suffered._ "I don't know what I was thinking, I don't - I thought there'd be some - I thought - I - " There's a picture over the fireplace. His family, smiling. He and Neil hadn't been fighting, they fought so _much_. If Adam could, he'd take it all back, all of it. The fear, ever-present, for the moment gives way to a grief that hadn't ever had a chance to be expressed. Did they know Adam loved them? Had he told them enough? Were they scared at the end? "I can't do this," he breathes out, because if he speaks louder, he'll start to scream. And he'll never stop.

"Okay," Tommy soothes, pulling Adam in. "We can go. We _will_ go. It's okay, I've got you." For Adam, Tommy can be strong. He can do this for both of them, even if seeing Adam like this makes his heart break, just a little bit. "Let's go. I know what you thought, and it's okay. It's okay to hope." Even if it means that hope is broken, sometimes. "Let's get the bikes and go back to that shitty motel. We'll get our stuff. We'll find our spot. Believe me. _Trust_ me. Take what you want from here, and we'll go. I've..." His expression is serious and as open as it's ever been, with Adam. "I've got you. That's what I need."

To have come so far, risked so much. To have been shot, to have left Grizzy somewhere without a home. All to get here and turn right back around and leave. Rage at _himself_ makes Adam dizzy. "I'm sorry," he says, to Tommy. To Brad and Neil and his mom and dad. To Cassidy and Kris and Katy and Drake, Ferras and Allisan, Allison and ... "I'm just so sorry." Adam thought he could fix something. He has no idea why he even thought that.

What can he get that they need? No weapons. His life Before ill-prepared him for this.

The sunset is in their faces when they pull back into the parking lot of the Sea and Sun motel.

And yes, here, they have the sea and the sun, their supplies, shelter, food. And each other. Tommy thinks of his buddies, the guys from the bands he's been in, and the guys and girl he'd been in a band with when this had happened. "Don't ever be sorry to me," he says, one last time, once they're unpacked. A place like this could easily be theirs; the room is plenty, the location fairly obscure. And they're alone. "You're the reason I'm here at all, you know." Tomorrow, they can figure out what to do with this place, if they'll stay or if this is a waypoint to somewhere else. Tomorrow will be a new day.

~~

The Sea and Sun is good for a while, until being so close to the desert becomes too dry, too hot. They pack up and move again; they're getting good at it, to the point where it's become easy to give up certain things that just aren't necessary. Back roads are best, and they find their way to Eaton Canyon, just past Pasedena. It's verdant and not nearly as dry, and Tommy makes a sound that's just as much a laugh as a sob when they see, of all things, a cottage. Parked, empty, in the middle of nowhere, with cold storage and plenty of space, and, the best part: solitude. This could be it. Close enough that they're familiar, but far enough away to keep either of them from drowning in grief of a life Before.

There are _waterfalls_. Lakes. They can hear birds and what might even be wild dogs. It's _beautiful_. It renders Adam even more speechless than he already has become. The cabin is small, too. Pretty much one big room, but they look out at mountains. At water, too. At grass and wildflowers. Even as winter approaches, it's not too cold; not like Iowa.

They have so much to do. But for the moment, Adam just stands there, and he breathes and he reaches for Tommy's hand.

The smile that Tommy wears is oddly satisfied. _This_ is where they should be. People could be around, but never close. Everything they've learned has led them here. "Let's unpack, huh? I could seriously go for a dip in that water and clean up." He looks at Adam out of the corner of his eye and squeezes his fingers. "I think... it's time for something good to happen. Let's get it cleaned up, huh?"

Pulling their joined hands up, Adam kisses Tommy's knuckles and nods. After so long, he can't believe that something like this will happen and be without problem. But it's a nice thought.

So they unpack. They store what few things they brought with them. If Adam could, he'd go back for Grizzy, but he knows they can't, and he's sorry for that too. For making them give up the little cat. They clean and air out the cottage and before the sun goes down, they swim in fresh water.

There are more lists; things they need to get, necessities and those things called 'other.' Another guitar for Tommy (another thing lost in the fool's journey West). But that night, under a sky that seems to go on forever, they sit outside on the grass before going in and Adam says, "there are so many things I've gotten used to not knowing. And there's so much I've learned. But I know ... " He turns his head to look at Tommy. "I know I love you." And that, he realizes anew, is all that matters.

The way Adam says these things makes Tommy not just smile, but _grin_, ducking his head. He misses Grizz too, hopes that their cat, the first living thing they saw after each other, is okay. He looks at Adam, warm and dark and sidelong, and rests a hand on the top of Adam's leg. "I love you too." Then Tommy lies back in the grass, feeling... eased. They aren't alone but they have their solitude. They have what they want, finally. They've got what they need.

~~

In August of 2020, the electricity comes back online. The only way Adam and Tommy know this is because a lightbulb over the porch of the cabin suddenly explodes.

In November of that year, there is a gurgling at the sink. Tommy turns the faucet on and brown water spews out for nearly five minutes before it runs clear. They still boil the water for another six months. In December, they take their first hot showers in over five years. They stay in there until the water runs cold anyway. Tommy's skin is golden brown again and Adam's is too, even if still covered with freckles.

Tommy's also found a couple of grey hairs, for _real_ this time, and he makes a joke to Adam about how it's time for him to dye his hair. He doesn't feel his age, not at all, and even though Adam's got lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth from laughing - and god, Tommy would rather see those than the deeper line between his eyebrows - Tommy still thinks he's beautiful.

They have music again, CDs that remind them of where they came from. Tommy's got one CD in particular that he keeps inside his guitar case. The cover blue and violet and glittery, a soft-focus on a man's face. That was Before and this is now, but sometimes Tommy gets it it and looks at it in little snatches, reminding himself of how what they have now is so incredible.

There are other pictures too, grabbed at the house before they fled, stuffed into the corner of the mirror in the bathroom. The cottage is just the right size. Their bedroom window looks out over the garden; they still grow zucchini even if, by June, they are wishing they hadn't. They fish and Adam can make a bread that doesn't require eggs. They've learned how to ward off the bears and wolves as well.

It's a good life. Adam and Tommy started to draw calendars on the wall, still, but eventually, they realized it doesn't matter and they stop. Somewhere in there, Tommy, then Adam, turn forty, then on to fifty.

The seclusion seems to stretch out for an infinity of days, even though sometimes Tommy's sure he hears the crack of a rifle or the hum of an engine, but nobody's found them. Nobody's looking. For the first time in a _long_ time, while Adam's in the shower, Tommy pulls out For Your Entertainment and looks at the cover. When Adam had been famous, it had gotten to the point where they'd wish people would just stop _looking._ And here they are, now, getting exactly that. The booklet is well-worn by now, and Tommy looks at the Adam from before, and he looks like a stranger compared to Adam now, glitzy and made up and unrealistically gorgeous. When it's put away when the water in the bathroom stops, and immediately forgotten, because this Adam is the one that Tommy still loves, shown in the quirk of his smile before starting dinner. Later, maybe, Tommy will get out his guitar and play something like... Dream On.

"You okay?" Adam asks as he comes out, clad in comfortable, worn jeans and a t-shirt. His arm slips around Tommy's waist and a kiss is pressed to the soft skin at the back of his neck. "Those tomatoes should be perfect."

"I'm great," Tommy answers, turning to look up at him. "I'm totally going to make steak and tomatoes for dinner tonight." When he gets up on his toes, he can put his arms around Adam's shoulders and press a kiss to his mouth. "Just out of curiosity... Do you still know the words for Dream On?"

"Um..." Arms landing easily around Tommy's waist, Adam has to think about this. "God, how long has it been ... ?" He searches back in his memory. "... I know nobody knows ... Where it comes and where it goes ... I know it's everybody's sin ... You got to lose to know how to win ..." And even as he half-sings though, the words come more freely to Adam.

_Half my life  
Is in books' written pages  
Lived and learned from fools and  
From sages  
You know it's true  
All the things come back to you ..._

But he doesn't recite what comes next. They both know it.

_Sing with me, sing for the year  
Sing for the laugh, sing for the tears  
Sing with me, if it's just for today  
Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away, yeah... _

Just not yet. Not yet, Adam says to whoever might be listening. Not yet. The last of the sun streaks in the window from over the mountains. Holding Tommy, Adam sings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We really had no intention of writing a sequel/epilogue to this series, but we found we couldn't let go of these boys just yet. Thank you so much for all your wonderful feedback.


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